


Ebb

by SparklingDragonTears



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 150_prompts, Aggression, Anger, Angry!Stiles, Backstory Stiles, Depression, Gen, Implied Violence, Impulsive Stiles, Jackson Whittemore is a Little Shit, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Rafael McCall Being an Asshole, Referenced violence, Scott is a Good Friend, Theo is a Little Shit, Violent!Stiles, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklingDragonTears/pseuds/SparklingDragonTears
Summary: Prompt 132: "I had a dream where I killed you."“That connection is a part of me, it’s the bond.” Scott finally explained. “It’s like it’s physical inside of me. And sometimes, whatever it is you’re dreaming, it drags you away. I don’t know why or how, but the bond breaks. It’s like something inside of me has crumbled and rotted away. It’s painful and hollow, and I feel an urge to run and take it back.”They lay quietly, staring at the stars. Scott listened to the rapid heartbeat beside him, patiently waiting for the boy to break.“I had a dream where I killed you.”





	Ebb

**Author's Note:**

> No. 132: "I had a dream where I killed you."
> 
> Stiles dreams dark and terrible things. Broken Stiles started a long time ago and never healed. Scott helps him through the night.
> 
> This has collected virtual dust long enough. It may not be perfect, but it's not going to get any better. <3 Enjoy.  
\--

Stiles sat on the roof of his house, having jumped out his bedroom window, shimmied sideways to the small awning on the side and pulled himself to the top. He wore only the jeans he’d thrown on after scrambling out of bed. He shivered slightly in the cool California night, but didn’t take notice. As he stared out toward the city, where the sky glowed a pale pink in the deep of night, his breath drifted up in light puffs toward the stars. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, just that his fingers and toes had long grown numb. 

He heard the light crunch of leaves in the yard below. Two guesses who would be skulking around Stilinski property at this hour.

Stiles watched the outline of messy hair poke up over the edge of the roof, bright red eyes glowing up at him.

“Hey,” Scott called quietly. Stiles said nothing, but nodded in greeting. 

Scott sprung up beside him, settling against his side. Stiles knew Scott was sitting close to keep him warm, but chose not to comment. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Scott nudged their shoulders together.

“What was it this time?” He murmured. Stiles sniffled a little, rubbing his hands together, more out of nerves than to warm them.

“How do you always know?” Stiles bit out under his breath. Except for that while when he was self-absorbed and didn’t notice any of the world around him, Scott always showed up at his house when he woke up in the middle of the night. Stiles had never asked before, but once it had stopped, he realized how much he’d taken it for granted.

Scott was quiet for a moment, debating how to answer. Stiles sighed, about to give up, when he finally spoke.

“Sometimes,” he spoke slowly, trying to figure out his words as he spoke. “Something you dream… pulls you away.” Stiles glanced over, but Scott didn’t look his way. “It’s like… you’re always right here,” Scott pointed to a place near his heart. “Sometimes like you’re standing next to me, sometimes like you’re a million miles away. But even if we’re fighting, even if I haven’t spoken to you in ages, you’re there somewhere.”

Scott laid back against the cold shingles, folding his arms back behind his head and staring at the sky. Stiles watched him, bundling himself tight at the sudden loss of warmth. Scott swallowed before continuing.

“When you were taken by The Hunt, I didn’t know what was missing, I didn’t know anything was missing… I feel awful about that every day…” Scott finally met Stiles’ eyes, looking regretful. “But ever since it’s back, I realize what pulled me awake at night when you needed me.” 

When Stiles scowled, Scott reached out a hand and hooked two fingers in Stiles’ belt loop affectionately.

“That connection is a part of me, it’s the bond.” He finally explained. “It’s like it’s physical inside of me. And sometimes, whatever it is you’re dreaming, it drags you away. I don’t know why or how, but the bond breaks. It’s like something inside of me has crumbled and rotted away. It’s painful and hollow, and I feel an urge to run and take it back.”

Stiles laid back next to him, letting their arms lay together to steal the wolf’s body heat. Scott scooted closer, shoving an arm under Stiles’ neck to wrap around his shoulders and pull his friend against him.

They lay quietly, staring at the stars. Scott listened to the rapid heartbeat beside him, patiently waiting for the boy to break.

“I had a dream where I killed you.” His voice was low and rough, words spit like poison, even as he rested his head against Scott’s chest. Scott waited for an elaboration, but none came.

“Still angry?” He asked as gently as he could. Stiles huffed a humorless laugh.

“More than usual?” His fists clenched for a moment, body tight as he ground his teeth. Scott let him work out whatever he was feeling, holding him loosely enough that he could pull away if he needed to. After a few breaths through gritting teeth, Stiles relaxed a bit, reaching up to grind his fists into his eyes for a moment. 

“Is it bad?” Scott whispered, free of judgement. Stiles nodded sharply once. “Like before?”

“Scott,” Stiles breathed out, voice almost a whine. “It’s so much worse.” Scott took in a sharp breath rubbing Stiles’ shoulder slowly. The boy shook with a deep shiver, trying not to let tears burn his eyes. 

Scott gave a shaky sigh. He thought about Stiles when he was young, back when they were all young and innocent. Well, Stiles was never innocent. He always needed to cause trouble, even if it was only for his own benefit and no one would ever find out. From the day they’d met, Stiles was impulsive and violent. He was spiteful and mean and pushy, but for some reason, took to Scott like he was the Sun to his Moon. Scott was the only one who could make him stop and think before acting. Scrawny, frail, asthmatic Scott, with an angry drunk father and almost no self-esteem to save his life, somehow was declared Stiles Stilinski’s best friend and partner in crime. Scott never had to do more than throw a worried look Stiles’ way to make him second-guess an impulsive move. Almost immediately, Stiles’ actions had morphed from personal attacks to harmless pranks. 

While Stiles had stopped acting out poorly, he still boiled with violent feelings he didn’t know how to handle. Scott kept him from acting on them, and for the most part, Stiles was able to take a step back and realize his anger was usually unfounded. 

When his mother died, Scott would physically put himself into Stiles’ eyesight to keep the boy from lashing out when someone said something snide or looked at him wrong. Stiles would meet his eyes and turn away to sulk in silence. He usually kept himself beside Scott, using his best friend as a mental anchor. 

When John fell to whiskey, Stiles began to pick fights at school when Scott wasn’t around, as rare as that was. The week Rafa broke Scott’s arm, he didn’t come to school and Stiles lost his mind. He wound up suspended, standing at Scott’s door with blood still drying on his clothes and bruises on his knuckles. He’d handed the suspension note to Melissa when she opened the door, kicking the ground in shame. She didn’t question why he was standing at her door with a backpack of clothes, and he didn’t question the bruises healing across her face. After that, things were rocky, but got better. Whenever Stiles felt the fire burning through his muscles and Scott wasn’t there, he’d clench his fists and remember scrawling his name on Scott’s cast as Melissa watched them from her kitchen table, coffee shaking in her thin fingers, teeth gently worrying her still-healing lip. 

By the time the supernatural shitshow had started, Stiles had since dealt with the rage of puberty and learned to anchor himself without Scott present. Then everything had gone wrong. There was danger lurking in every shadow and every unfamiliar face. Stiles felt the springs of tension coiling tighter every day deep inside him. He tried to ignore it, tried to do his best to throw everything into helping Scott. 

But that one day, Jackson fucking Whittemore had to open his mouth. Stiles tried. He tried so hard to ignore him, to walk away, to use his _words_ (as sarcastic and biting as they were). And then Jackson had to fucking _touch_ him, to take the stupid phone. He snapped. He saw red and swung around fast and hard, throwing all the rage built inside him into Jackson’s fucking smug face. Everything else around them fell away. He stalked a step toward the jock, ready to keep him down, when Scott jumped in, tight arm across his chest, face pushing in front of Stiles’ view of Jackson. His muffled voice had cut through the pounding in his ears and he let himself be dragged away to collect himself.

Since that incident, he’d thrown himself completely into the pack. His energy went to research for every possibility for every situation. Lacrosse had become an outlet for some of his aggression. He’d begun jumping into dangerous situations, finding himself in the hollows of the town, face-to-face with brutality at every turn. 

By the time he was taken over, he was a tinderbox of trauma ready for stoking. The monster had ripped up the remnants of anger and amplified them, making his body act on long-repressed urges. Inklings of preteen angst were manipulated and mutated into blood on his hands and agony surging through him in orgasmic pleasure.

When he was bitten, the Nogitsune left him a shattered shell with the memories of feelings, regret and shameful pride. Stiles was gone, and slipped off the rails as everyone tried to clean up the pieces around him.

Scott remembered the flashes of fury he’d seen during those years, Stiles’ fists slamming into his beloved Jeep time and time again in frustration, angry red fingernail marks down the boy’s arms after he’d restrained himself from yelling again, many an object flying across the room when he’d become aggravated. And when Scott wasn’t there to stop him, Stiles had bruised knuckles and deep rings under his eyes whenever they met. 

Then there were the fights with Theo that broke whatever last bit of Stiles was left, and Scott wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to wash the blood off, or to help his brother go on until it was too late. Stiles killed someone. Call it magic, karma, rage, whatever it may have been. Stiles wanted the kid dead, and he made it happen. Scott hadn’t known until later that it had been self-defense, but by then it made no difference. The damage to them both had been done and Scott would forever feel the death on his hands, knowing it was barely a fraction of what his brother felt.

After, all was rocky, but healing. Then The Hunt came and stole everyone away. They were wiped from history and had clawed their way back again. Scott had hoped this would be a new start for them all, but as his best friend lay shaking against his chest at 3 a.m., it proved that they could never be allowed the luxury of forgetting.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stiles whispered. “Never again.” He rubbed his face and turned his head away from Scott.

“Hey,” Scott whispered, lightly grabbing Stiles’ chin and tipping him to meet his eyes in the dark. “You’re not gonna hurt me-“

“I hurt everyone!” Stiles snapped, quickly smothering his mouth with his bare arms and letting out a muffled yell frustration. His eyes squeezed tight, tears poking at the edges. Stiles breathed tightly through his nose for a few breaths before lowering his arms to grab around his torso. “I have killed you.” Stiles sounded heartbroken, choking on his words. “Over and over again, Scott… Void driving the sword into you wasn’t the first or the last time…” He sobbed out, burying his face in his hands and curling into Scott’s side, desperate for affection he didn’t feel he deserved.

“Hey, hey,” Scott spoke softly, rubbing the bare skin on his back, ignoring the scars he felt carved from years of destruction. “I’m right here. Dreams aren’t real. And I’ll go to my grave swearing that wasn’t your fault and you know it.” Stiles shook his head hard, breathing hard around his sobs, unable to speak. Scott swallowed, watching the goosebumps smooth and rise again on Stiles’ skin every time his hand passed over. “I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life if I have to.” 

Scott held Stiles through the panic, reminding him to breathe, reminding him that they had survived, reminding him that he was here, helping him count his fingers, reminding him they were both alive, in this moment.

The sun began to push pinks into the dark sky, and even Scott was feeling cold now. Stiles had exhausted himself into a boneless puddle, being kept from melting off the roof only by Scott’s arms.

“C’mon,” Scott said softly. Stiles let himself be moved like a rag doll. Scott pulled him to the edge of the roof and looked down, suddenly worried. He glanced over to Stiles, but he was already moving methodically, as though he had done this a million times before. He lowered himself down, and even though he was shaking and zoned out, he shuffled over toward his window and dropped down to the ledge, hooking his feet into the windowsill and swinging in with a heavy thud.

Scott followed suit and swung in behind Stiles, who was still standing in the middle of the room. He gently pushed Stiles toward his bed, following and falling into the blankets with him. Stiles’ hands grabbed tightly at Scott’s as he pulled the tattooed arms around him, burying his face in the pillows. 

Scott listened as Stiles began to drift off, heartbeat finally slowing down and breathing becoming even.

“Thank you Scotty,” He heard the whisper through the deep breaths, just before Stiles tipped over the edge of sleep. Scott felt the string inside him weaving itself back where it belonged, everything falling together again, held tight and safe within his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again.
> 
> Till next time,  
-J X


End file.
